A Purrfect Coincidence
by DrRemitrom
Summary: Yr5, OotP. Is it just a coincidence if a wizard's around when you bump into a pair of dementors? Or that the wizard is actually your neighbour's cat? What about when this cat/wizard hybrid seems to know 1/2 of the people you do? Are all of those things just coincidences, or does Harry Potter have the craziest stalker the world has ever seen? T for language, violence & romance.
1. Dementors!

**A/N: So this is my first real Harry Potter fanfiction. It starts at the beginning of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,_ where Harry and Dudley encounter a couple of dementors, but quickly takes it's own turn (as you will soon discover). You might find the first few chapters rather odd, but please do read on~! I assure you it should get better ^_^ **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of it's characters or places or themes etc. I do use part of the original text here (ie. some dialogue) but I don't own any of it.**

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"Well, he was asking for it," snarled Dudley.

Harry tensed his jaw, trying so hard to resist the urge to slap his cousin. "And how old was he, ten?"

Dudley made an odd sound, half way between a snort and a laugh. Harry turned to him.

"He was asking for it. He was giving us cheek."

"Sure, sure," said Harry. "Seems like everyone's asking for it nowadays."

Dudley's face reddened and his breathing sped up. Harry smiled to himself. But Dudley wasn't looking at him, he was looking straight ahead, eyes slightly dazed.

Harry turned his head down the alley, squinting into the darkness. Then the air around them turned cold, biting at Harry's skin. He blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes the whole world had turned black.

It took him a long moment to register what had happened.

"Harry?" whispered Dudley. "Harry, stop. Stop it."

Harry gulped. "I-I'm not doing anything."

"What are you doing? I'll tell dad, I will. He'll kill you, and ‒"

"Shut up," he hissed. "I'm trying to ‒"

"I'll hit you, Harry. I can't see. I can't see a THING. What have you ‒?"

"Shut up, you idiot," he said. "I'm trying to listen for ‒"

But then he heard it: a horrible, drawn out, rattling breath.

"Shoot," he whispered.

Harry felt around in his back pocket, his stomach sinking as he realised he must have left his wand at home. Or dropped it! _His wand._ Now what would he do? He could die. They could both _die_.

Then Harry heard tentative footsteps behind him. There was a flash of blue light and the alley was illuminated in weak, silvery glow. It was just about light enough for Harry to make out the two hooded monsters in front of him.

A man jumped in front of Harry and a shuddering Dudley, pushing them both back. Dudley fell backwards with a thump.

The man pointed a wand at the dementors, almost screaming the charm.

"EXPECTO PATROMUM." His voice was low and rough, but his patronus, surprisingly (it was a surprise to Harry, at least), took the form of a kitten. It pounced around playfully in a flash of silver light, clawing at the black, hooded monsters.

For a small, fleeting moment Harry thought the short redheaded man standing in front of him was a Weasley. He blinked a few times, wondering why on earth Charlie was here. Wasn't he supposed to be in Romania?

Then the man turned around. Right, not Charlie. Definitely not Charlie.

"Y'all right, boy?" the man asked, accent thick and unfamiliar to Harry. The man's breath was heavy, eyes wide.

He nodded silently, staring into bright green eyes – much brighter than his own.

"Wha' 'bout your friend, there? Is he okay?"

Harry turned to Dudley, who was curled up on the floor.

"H-he'll be fine," said Harry, turning back to the wizard. "Th-thank you so much for that, sir."

The man nodded. "Well, sorry boy, but seeing as you're a muggle I'll have to erase your ‒"

"I'm not a muggle," exclaimed Harry. "I'm a wizard."

The man frowned, feeling around in his back pocket. "Then you should learn to defend yourself, my boy. Dementors are not very nice creatures. You need to be able to cast a patronus charm. Mine is a cat, as you saw. I'm not sure what yours could be. Maybe a squirrel, or a seagull perhaps. You look like a seagull sort o' fella." He moved his hand to a different pocket, eyes narrowing in concentration. Then he pulled out his hand, holding a wand. "This must be yours."

Harry looked up, a smile overtaking his face. "Thank you. I thought I'd lost it."

"What about wandless magic?" he asked. "Surely you're capable of that."

"I'm not allowed to use magic at home yet. Still underage."

The man cocked an eyebrow and his face crinkled up, seemingly in disgust. "Underage? That's a first. Never heard o' that one before. Underage, you say? What age would this 'underage' be?"

Harry blinked a couple of times. "Eh, well you have to be 17 to use magic outside of school. But I think that sometimes ‒"

The man perked up. "School? You go to a _school_, boy?"

Harry suddenly felt rather insulted. Why was this man so surprised he attended school? "Yeah. Hogwarts."

The man laughed, eyes lighting up with glee. "Th-that's very good. Why, I do believe I am supposed to be teaching at Hogwarts this year. Or studying. I do forget. Say, what house are you in? Gryffindor?"

Harry smiled, starting to feel slightly more at ease with this peculiar man. "Yeah, I'm in Gryffindor."

The man's face lit up even more. "That is good, my boy. Very good. I was a Gryffindor, myself. Back when Minnie was a babe, ha ha!"

Harry nodded, not too sure how to respond. "Ah."

"I played Quidditch, too. Though not much in school. I was a Keeper."

Harry nodded. "Th-that's nice."

"You play?" he asked, raising a furry, ginger eyebrow.

Harry smiled. "Seeker."

The man smiled back. "Well I'm sure we'll get along very well. As I said, back when I was a bit younger I played Quidditch. Mind you, back then the rules were very different indeed."

Harry nodded slowly, looking back down at his cousin who was now staring up at him with some kind of dazed wonder in his eyes. Harry shook his head and looked back up to the redheaded man.

"Can you help me take him home?" asked Harry. "I think he's going to be sick."

"Sure, my boy. Where do you ‒?"

Then Harry heard light footsteps from behind him. Both he and the man turned sharply.

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**A/N: So, what do you think? What do you think of 'Tufty'? Who is he? . . . And what do you think will happen to him? **


	2. The cat

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter! There is some original text used here, but I don't own it :)**

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Harry turned.

"Mrs. Figg?" asked Harry, sighing with relief.

The woman frowned. "Tufty. I thought I'd be seeing you around here."

"Wait," said Harry. "You know him?"

Mrs. Figg nodded. "Thank god he was here, too. He's my cat. I'm surprised he remembered how to transfigure back. He's been a cat for over thirty years, you know."

Harry spluttered. "Y-your cat? What the ‒?"

"You did a good job scaring away those dementors. They send chills down my spine, those things do."

Harry blinked. For some reason, the fact that his old neighbour Mrs. Figg could see dementors was more shocking than the fact that the man who had saved him was actually Mrs. Figg's cat. "Y-you can see them? B-but I thought ‒"

"I'm not a witch," she said harshly. "I'm a squib."

Harry stared at her. It was like looking at a completely different person.

She sighed loudly. "I'm going to kill that Mundungus Fletcher."

Harry looked back to 'Tufty'. "You're a cat?"

The man nodded. "I've been a cat for a while. Maybe even thirty years. Last week Professor Dumbledore asked if I'd help out in the school. This is only the, uh, second time I've changed back in my time being a cat."

"_Second time_?" asked Mrs. Figg, her grey eyebrows disappearing up into her hair for a moment. "When was the _first time_?"

"Why did you stay as a cat for so long?" asked Harry.

Tufty smiled, ignoring Mrs. Figg for now. "Let's just say that many people want me dead."

"Even after thirty years?" asked Harry.

"That's enough of that," snapped Mrs. Figg. "Tufty, turn back into a cat. No, wait, pick up that poor boy. He's shaking like a twig. Wait, no, a tree. Ah, you're making me lose my mind. That poor boy is shaking like a LEAF! A LEAF!"

Tufty saluted with a sly smile. "Yes, ma'am."

"And I want no cheek. Harry, help me ‒" she snapped again, but was interrupted. There was a loud crack and Mrs. Figg screeched. "You! Fletcher!"

A short, man materialised next to Mrs. Figg. His hair was a dull red, greasy and lying limp around his head. He smiled manically, patting her hard on the back.

" 'S' up, Figgy?" he said, then looked around (missing Harry, who was standing behind Tufty). "We at some kind o' reunion? I thought you were just getting cat food."

Mrs. Figg almost growled. "'Just getting cat food'?" she asked. "'Some kind of reunion'? If you haven't noticed, Harry and his cousin have just been attacked by a dementor. On your watch, you oaf ‒" She swang around her bag of cat food. With every word she hit him again. "They–both–could–have–been–killed! You idiot! What–the–hell–were–you–thinking?"

"Look," he said, raising his hands defensively. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay? I just had to ‒"

"Don't you go making excuses," she screamed. Harry had an urge to put his hands over his ears but just about managed to resist it.

"Look, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "We need to – wait, Quentin Summerbee? Oh, wow you still look so young. How long has it been? Gosh, almost ten years now."

Harry wondered who Mundungus was talking to, and looked around to see if he had missed anyone's arrival. Then he realised who Mundungus was talking to: Tufty.

"Tufty?" Mrs. Figg exclaimed. "Tufty's my cat! My good, old cat! How on earth do you know my bloody CAT?"

"Ahh," said Mundungus. "From school, y' see. He came in our seventh year. Bit odd, but we were good friends, weren't we, eh?" Mundungus proceeded to elbow Tufty awkwardly in the ribs.

Tufty's eyes narrowed, and Harry could see the sweat gleaming on his face. "Uh, well maybe. I recall attending Hogwarts for a year or so. Perhaps."

"But you're my cat!" exclaimed Mrs. Figg. "You've been my cat for THIRTY YEARS!"

Tufty pulled at his collar. "Um. Well, you see I'm not really your cat, I'm just ‒"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU'RE NOT REALLY MY CAT?"

Tufty looked at Harry for a moment, green eyes pleading, and then turned back to Mrs. Figg. "I mean, I am sometimes. But you know what Tufty's like, right? Always disappearing . . ."

"YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME THAT YOU'VE BEEN LYING TO ME FOR _THIRTY_ YEARS?"

Tufty looked down. "Uh. . .yes, I suppose."

"So there aren't any wizards trying to kill you?" asked Harry cheerily. This was starting to turn into a rather interesting conversation.

Tufty glared at him. "Harry? You're not Harry_ Potter_, are you?"

Harry nodded silently. He wanted to find out more about Tufty's double life.

The man's eyes lit up and he extended his hand. "Merlin's beard. Harry Potter, finally. My name's . . . uh, we'll worry about that later. You can just call me Tufty. It's a pleasure to meet you. I have to ‒"

"What the bloody ‒?" screamed Mundungus. "The muggle's been sick. OVER MY NEW SHOES! They cost me 10 galleons, they did. Ten bloody galleons."

"Mundungus," said Mrs. Figg, voice strained. "Help T-Tufty carry Harry's cousin back home. I – I – I need to send a letter to Dumbledore. I'll be going. Tufty . . . I'll understand if you d-don't want to come back home."

And then Harry watched as she trotted off quickly.

"Damn," said Tufty. "I thought she'd take this better."

"A muggle house?" asked Mundungus, eyes glazed. "Awesome. Never been in one o' those before."

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**Review :)**


	3. Unexpected letters

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! Again, I used some of the original text (like some from the letter) and whatnot, but it (and all of harry potter) does definitely not belong to me! **

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Harry led the way, listening as the two wizards conversed behind him.

"Have you ever seen a teluvishun?" asked Tufty.

Mundungus shook his head, eyes gleaming with wonder. "Tel Urv Ishoon? What does tha' do?"

Harry inwardly groaned. Tufty's last explanation had been of the workings of a toaster, and despite his knowledge of muggle life being almost non-existent, Tufty - in Harry's view, at least - had a very active imagination.

Tufty smiled. "They're like portraits, or pictures, but they can act out a _play_. _A whole play_. And the actors can teleport."

Harry sighed. This definitely wasn't as bad as the toaster explanation. This was actually pretty accurate.

"Ooh," said Mundungus. "So a 'Tell-Your-Fishun' is magic? You mean muggles can make magical objects, too? That's so clever. I thought they didn't know a thing about magic. I mean, they don't know about what lives in toasters, do they?"

"No, no. They do not know the real truth of their toasters, but they can do some magic," insisted Tufty, completely serious. "However, it takes them a rather long time to do it."

"That_ is_ interesting," said Mundungus. "I've heard that they have this magic box that _washes clothes _and_ charms snakes_ at the _same time_."

Harry stifled a laugh. It never ceased to amuse and amaze him how little most wizards knew about muggle life.

"Oh yes," Tufty said dismissively. "Yes, everyone knows about that. They call it 'The Machine'. Apparently it uses quite dark magic."

Harry turned back just in time to see Mundungus shiver and cast suspicious glances at the middle-class houses around him. Harry turned his gaze to Dudley, who was staring absently into the distance, mumbling to himself quietly.

They reached the house, and Harry rang the bell. The hall light was on, and he watched Aunt Petunia trot along the hallway to answer the door.

She swung it open, eyes only seeing Dudley at first.

'Diddy! About time too, I was getting – Oh my, excuse me. Wh-who are you two men? Are you the police? Is Diddy o-okay? What's wrong, Diddy-kins? Oh, my poor boy. What happened? Did you get mugged? There's dirt on your clothes!"

Mundungus snickered, and Harry tried to suppress his own smile.

"Ya boy had a run in with a couple o' dementors," said Mundungus flatly. "Good thing Que – uh, I mean Tufty, was there to save them both. Well, I'm sure Harry could o' done it, but this saved him from the, eh, underage magic problem."

"Underage magic," muttered Tufty. "My, my. What has the world come to? Back in the day, you could perform magic _whatever age you were_. I say, _this_ is _discrimination_."

Aunt Petunia gawped. Harry could tell she was getting anxious about the neighbours hearing what was going on. But what escaped her mouth was something Harry didn't expect.

"Dementors?" she squeaked. "Here?"

"You know about them?" asked Harry. "You know what they are?"

She shuddered. "Thank you for bringing my son back," she said sharply. "Harry, come inside. You two may go."

She grabbed Harry's arm with her thin hand and pulled him inside. Then she managed, somehow, to haul Dudley in too.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said, before slamming the door shut in their shocked-looking faces.

Then, through the glass of the door Harry watched as the pair walked off into the night.

He sighed and then looked sideways at his cousin, who blinked a few times before straightening up.

"Him," he said, pointing a chubby finger in Harry's direction. "He did it. He used his . . . He used _magic_."

Aunt Petunia frowned at Harry. "No he didn't, my Diddy-kins. It's okay. I'll call your father . . . Vernon? VERNON?"

Nothing happened.

"VERNON?" she shrieked. "Our _son_ is _hurt_."

He came lumbering out of the living room, eyes narrowing at Harry.

"Hurt, you say?" he asked. Then he turned to Harry. "It was you, wasn't it, _boy_?"

Aunt Petunia coughed. "No, it wasn't Harry. It was something else."

Uncle Vernon didn't seem satisfied with this response. "What is it, son? What happened to you? Was it Harry and his – and his _problem_?"

Dudley nodded, and Aunt Petunia shook her head.

"It was a dementor," she said.

"Two," corrected Harry quietly.

Uncle Vernon turned to Harry. "And you did this to him? Made him hurt himself?"

"I was trying to help him," he insisted. "Dudley just tripped or something . . ."

"But you _didn't_ try to help him," said Aunt Petunia sharply, turning on him now. "He was being attacked by those . . . those _things_."

Uncle Vernon's face reddened considerably. "You just let him get attacked?"

Harry gulped. "Well, I was going to help but I – I just didn't really ‒"

"That's it," shouted Uncle Vernon. "I've had enough of your selfish behaviour, boy."

Aunt Petunia steered a still wobbly Dudley into the kitchen and sat him down on a chair. Harry followed begrudgingly.

"I dropped my wand," he insisted. "I didn't know what to do until ‒"

"Be quiet," shouted Uncle Vernon. "Don't use that tone with me, _boy_. _Don't you dare_."

Then an owl flew through the kitchen window, dropping a large envelope at Harry's feet before turning stealthily and zooming back out into the garden.

"What's with these blooming owls?" screamed Uncle Vernon, but Harry wasn't listening.

He picked up the package and tore open the envelope.

_Dear Mr. Harry Potter,_

_The Patronus Charm was executed by your wand at nineteen minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-occupied region and in the presence of a Muggle. This is a breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. You have therefore been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a representative will arrive shortly to remove and destroy your wand._

_You are also required to attend a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August. _

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk, _

_Improper Use of Magic Office, Ministry of Magic_

What? He hadn't even used his wand! Harry looked up, dazed. "I need to find Tufty."

Then another owl flew in, knocking into Uncle Vernon, veering off its path. It flew into the sink, fluffed up its feathers and flew back out of the window again. Harry ran to the sink, picking up the soggy envelope.

He opened this one slowly, calming his breathing.

_Harry, don't go anywhere. This is all under control. Whatever you do, stay inside. Dumbledore's sorting everything out as I write this. Just remember to stay inside, and don't surrender your wand, whatever happens._

_ Padfoot._

"Bloody creatures. Why can't you just use the post, like normal people?" asked Uncle Vernon shakily, trying to pick a brown feather from his moustache. Harry wasn't too sure if he was referring to wizards or owls when he had said 'bloody creatures'. It could have been either.

Then, with perfect timing, another - smaller - owl flew in. It perched on Harry's shoulder. Harry unclipped the message from the bird's leg and unrolled it.

He squinted at the writing in hope of making out the elegant script.

_Dear Harry Potter,_

___I know this may seem a bit too forward, and I would understand if you do not want to be associated with a cat, but are you free next week? It's only that I think I need to buy a wand and I was wondering if you'd come with me to buy it. My first and only wand seems to be missing. And no, I haven't lost it, just put it somewhere for safekeeping. It's so safe that not even I know where it is._

_Also, it has only just come to my attention that I might have accidently used your wand to cast the patronus charm. Hey ho, what can you do? I'm writing to the ministry as we speak, but I doubt I'm on any of their records, seeing as I'm a cat and cat's aren't normally on ministry records._

_It's not too big a deal, anyway. I don't understand this whole 'underage' malarkey, myself. Just a whole load of nonsense if you ask me. I'm sure it'll all blow over in a few days, eh? _

_Cheerio,_

_Tufty._

Harry looked up, scrunching up the letter in his hands. "Bloody cat."

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**I'd love to hear what you guys think of my writing. Leave a review if you have time :)**


	4. Burglar! Argh!

Harry had been told countless times by countless people to stay at home. Not to go anywhere until someone came for him. Well, what did they expect him to do after being threatened with expulsion by the ministry? Walk around, hoping he wouldn't be spotted by anyone he knew? Run down the street singing 'I am Harry Potter' to the tune of happy birthday? _Go for a stroll whilst he was a wanted man_? Right. They all must have thought he was an idiot.

He sat in his room, staring off into the early night sky, looking for the familiar silhouette of Hedwig, who would hopefully be returning soon with news from his friends. He looked to the empty cage. _Where was she?_ They couldn't have taken _that_ long to write replies.

His aunt, uncle and Dudley had left ten minutes ago. Harry had no idea where they were going and didn't particularly care. He just found it hilarious that Dudley had been convinced to dress up in a suit.

He laughed to himself, recalling the image that would forever be engraved in his mind. Dudley in a suit! Hilarious! Just as he leant back, started to relax, he heard a loud bang from downstairs and sat up straight. Burglars? No, whoever this was, they weren't exactly trying to be quiet about it.

Harry heard frantic footsteps running up the stairs and grabbed his wand from the bedside table, standing up. The door burst open, and in came tumbling a scruffy looking ‒

"Tufty?" asked Harry, frowning at the redheaded man. No, not man, a boy. He barely looked older than Harry in this light.

Tufty smiled. "Hey there, Harry. I heard about your little run in with the ministry." He raised an eyebrow. "Not too good, eh? Look, I can't be long. I just need to warn you about ‒"

Something made a loud bang downstairs. Harry was about to step forward but Tufty pushed him back with one hand, the other one at his lips.

"Shh," he whispered. "They're coming to take you away."

Harry gulped. Was it normal for him to be feeling so excited about the prospect of being taken away by the ministry? Probably not, but after many years of questioning how sane, how 'normal', his thoughts were, he decided it would be a waste of time to care.

Just to prove his point about 'wasting-time-thinking-about-how-sane-his-own-thou ghts-were', Harry was too slow to notice Tufty, springing for Harry's bedside table. Tufty snatched his wand (which Harry had put back after realising Tufty probably wasn't trying to kill him), and before he could stop him, Tufty had darted out of the room.

"No," screamed Harry. "Give it back! Give back my wand you ‒"

He turned to run down the stairs, but ran straight into a stationary Tufty. Harry yelped as fell forward, pushing the older wizard down the stairs. They tumbled spectacularly, a mass of limbs, and at this rate, Harry was almost certain he'd end up breaking a couple of bones _before_ he hit the floor at the bottom.

"Arresto Momentum," an old, gruff, but surprisingly familiar voice mumbled – he actually sounded rather bored. Then Harry was falling like a leaf from a tree, ever so slowly. He watched, wincing, as Tufty plummeted to the bottom of the stairs without anything to slow or even cushion his fall. There was a sickening snap, and a half-hearted cry of pain.

Harry was lowered to the bottom step, and managed to stumble over Tufty's groaning body into some familiar arms. Lupin's arms.

"Woah," a woman's voice mumbled from somewhere behind him. "Blimey, you two are almost as clumsy as me. Don't you think, Moody?"

"L-Lupin?" asked Harry, stumbling back from the man. Remus smiled, though he looked rather confused.

"Nice to see you, Harry. But I'm sure you won't mind me asking who ‒"

"Professor Moody?"asked Harry with a smile, turning to his previous - kind of previous - professor. He wanted to avoid the question Lupin had started asking him for as long as possible.

"Not really a 'Professor'," mumbled Moody. "No, boy. Just Mad-eye Moody."

Harry nodded, then heard a quiet groan from behind him at the bottom of the stairs.

Tufty blinked up at Harry through strands of red hair. "Why does everything hurt?"

"Who are you?" asked Lupin quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"And more importantly," asked Moody. "What are you doing with Harry's wand?"

Harry wondered why that was more important, but didn't feel it was the right time to question the most dangerous wizard in the room.

Tufty gulped. "I thought you might have been trying to hurt him. I'm from the Order. Like you. I wasn't told about you arriving here."

"How do you know Harry, then?" asked the girl, who had hair the most intense shade of violet Harry had ever seen. "Doesn't it seem odd to you that we have no idea who you are? Wait . . . don't I . . .? No, never mind."

Tufty just sighed. "Look, you had better speak to Dumbledore. I can't say anything in front of the boy. Just ‒"

Moody growled, pulling up Tufty by his collar. "Then we'll go into Harry's room to talk, come on piece of ‒"

"Ahh," moaned Tufty. "My bloody back. Hang on a second, I'll just ‒"

"Drop Harry's wand," said the woman. "Drop it. No - wait, aren't you -?"

Tufty bowed. "Charles Soldano. Don't you remember me, Dora?"

The witch blushed. "Y-you look so similar . . . I d-din't really expect you to . . . Wait, you can't be here, you're not a -"

"Just drop the wand," growled Moody. "Drop it. Tonks, we'll talk later."

Tufty let the wand drop to the ground with a frown. "Satisfied, now?"

"Hey," said Harry. "Careful."

Tufty smiled sincerely at Harry. "Sorry." And then Harry watched as Mad-eye, Lupin and two other wizards Harry didn't recognise hauled Tufty upstairs.

When they had gone, and a silence filled the whole house, Harry turned to the witch. Hmm... he was sure that her hair wasn't pink before, wasn't it more purple?

She smiled at him, still slightly flustered. "You look just like I thought you would," she said.

Harry smiled politely and held out his hand. "I'm H-Harry."

She took his hand and shook it rather firmly. "My name's Tonks, and I'm an -"

There was a crash from upstairs and Harry felt a sudden sense of deja vu as Tufty tumbled down the steps.

"Now, now, Moody," scorned Lupin from the top of the staircase with a chuckle. "Was there really any need for that?"


End file.
